


To an Inch of His Life

by pizarra



Series: The Warlock's Bane [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Dark Arthur, Domestic Violence, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, M/M, Non-Consensual Spanking, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 21:24:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1757403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pizarra/pseuds/pizarra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young warlock is brought to the court, and Merlin is to decide his fate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To an Inch of His Life

“I have a gift for you,” Arthur says to him one night as they lay in bed.

Merlin, who is naked and sweaty on his back staring at the canopy above him, sits up to lean against the headboard, ignoring the slight burn in his lower back and arse.

“To celebrate our new life together,” the King continues. He leans back to grab the ornate box sitting on his bedside table and opens it to reveal two slim bracelets, with beautiful carvings and elaborate clasps.

“Go on,” Arthur nudges the box against Merlin’s fingers.

Slowly, Merlin reaches for the bracelets. As soon as he touches the metal, he knows. _Cold Iron._

He sucks in a breath. This _gift_ is another one of Arthur’s methods to keep him in line, something that will put him in his place, make sure that he never leaves the King’s side ever. Merlin chokes back a sob. Finally tired of waiting for Merlin, Arthur takes the bracelets and puts them around each of Merlin’s wrists. A tiny key locks both of them.

“There,” announces Arthur, who seems proud of what he’s done. Merlin fights back tears. “Now, you truly are mine.”

Merlin jiggles his left ankle, the sound of cold iron chains catching the King’s attention. “Ah, yes.” Arthur pulls of the chain around his neck, and leans over to unlock Merlin’s ankle. “Don’t worry, pet. You’ll not see those chains again.”

Merlin lays back down, and falls asleep to Arthur’s thumb rubbing his new bracelets.

 

\----------==========----------

 

A young boy, about three and ten years, is kneeling in front of the King, tears streaming down his face, a darkening bruise on his forehead, blood welling on his bottom lip. A few hours ago, a disturbance broke out in the lower town, and this boy is in the middle of it. Some men beat him and took him to see the King. His crime is to use magic.

Everybody knows now that the King’s consort is a warlock, rumored to be the most powerful in existence, but the ban against magic has not been repealed, and so the men brought the child in front of the King.

The council chambers is quiet. This is the first time a problem of magic has been brought to the King and council since Arthur returned from Avalon, and the lords and councilmen alike are wary of speaking out of turn. They no longer have Arthur’s ear, and they certainly don’t know how Arthur thinks. Not anymore.

Merlin, sitting in his throne at Arthur’s right, clutches a handful of his silken blue robes to keep himself from weeping. The boy is wounded and bloody, an innocent child. He sees his manservant Odi look pointedly at Merlin’s lap, so the King’s consort relaxes his grip and smoothens down his robe. Odi is right; it won’t do well for the King’s consort to be seen agitated in public.

Arthur is sprawled in his chair as he listens to the men, leaning on his right arm, with one of his fingers tapping his lips in a pulsing beat. After several moments, the King turns to Merlin and says, “ _Mer_ lin, what do you think?”

His head snaps up, wary as he looks at the King. “My lord?”

The King looks at him and exasperatedly repeats what he said. “I asked you what you think about the situation at hand.” Arthur gestures toward the boy on the floor. “What do you think should be done about this?”

No. _No, no, no_. This is a test, surely. A test to determine whether Merlin’s loyalties lie with _him_. A test to see what Merlin would do, what he will say. And Merlin is certain that whatever he says will be wrong. “Did he, uh, did he attack anybody, my lord?”

The King looks at the men standing behind the boy.

“N-no, my lord,” one of the men says.

“What did he do with his magic?” Merlin asks.

“Well, y’see, he made butterflies, S-sire,” another one replies.

Arthur raises an eyebrow at that. “Butterflies?” the King asks, incredulous.

The men nod reluctantly.

The King looks at Merlin.

The warlock clears his throat, apprehension seeping into his bones. “If…if the boy has done no harm, then hurting him is unjustified.”

“Hmm…” Arthur hums, taps his finger again on his lips, looking to all the world as if he’s considering something, when Merlin can see it in his eyes that the King has already decided on the solution to the problem. Merlin just _knows_ that Arthur would burn the boy at the stake, forcing him to watch it, listing to Merlin the many ways he can kill a warlock who disobeys him.

He wishes Arthur would kill him.

“The King Consort is correct: the boy has done no harm, therefore no punishment is required,” Arthur agrees. Merlin’s head snaps up. Did he hear correctly? Is Arthur really pardoning a magic user? “He shall be taken to Gaius for treatment.” The King nods at Gaius’ new apprentice, prompting the young man to lead the boy out of the council chambers.

The warlock allows himself a breath of relief, even a small one. This gives him hope; there’s a chance that his Arthur is still in there.

“But,” Arthur continues, slowly rising from his throne and stepping down the platform, “whatever shall we do with these men? My love?” He flicks a gaze at Merlin.

What? Merlin can feel all eyes are on him. He wants to fidget badly, but Arthur wouldn’t like that. What is Arthur planning now? “Uh…” he says just to fill the air.

“Yes?” Arthur pauses for several moments, allowing Merlin to say something. When the warlock stays quiet, he urges on. “They caused violence against another person, a boy at that. What is the punishment for a group of men who pummeled a harmless child?”

The warlock looks around the room in a panic. The councilmen all look away from him, the servants keep their eyes on the floor. Even his manservant is speechless. Oh gods. Arthur wants him to pass judgment on three people?

“Well, Merlin? Let’s not keep the council,” Arthur states impatiently.

“I-I,” Merlin stutters, “Perhaps the usual punishment for harming another person?”

The King walks around the men, eyes sizing up the three men. “A week in the dungeons?” Arthur chuckles. “You’re too soft, _Mer_ lin. They left a child gravely injured, short of killing him. No…I think they deserve something more. The punishment for murder is hanging, maybe they should get the same.”

“No!”

If the council chambers were silent before, now it’s deathly still. Merlin hasn’t meant to shout, but he can’t bear the thought of killing men. Magic is still banned, and the men didn’t know how to react to such a blatant display of magic. Merlin may not like the fact that they injured a child, but death is not a reasonable sentence for their ignorance and confusion. Enough killing has been made in the name of magic.

Arthur looks amused. “Oh? And why not, love?” The endearment does nothing to set his mind at ease. He’s going to pay for his outburst, Merlin is certain of it.

“They’re ill-informed about magic, my lord, but that doesn’t warrant death,” Merlin reasons, softly this time, with bated breath.

“Mm, yes, you’re right. A flogging will do.” Merlin sucks in a breath in repulsion, for even flogging is excessive. “I think…thirty lashes each.” Arthur, then, turns his back on the men.

Before he can stop himself, Merlin finds himself negotiating with the King. “Sire, thirty lashes would leave them too weak to work.”

Arthur sighs, and Merlin can tell that the King has had enough of Merlin’s opinions for the day. His eyes widen as Arthur slowly walks towards his throne instead, and leans closer to Merlin, his hands on the armrests, caging the warlock in. He keeps his eyes on Arthur, determined not to show weakness.

“How many do _you_ think they deserve, Merlin?” Arthur asks, voice soft so as not to be heard through the chambers.

Merlin gulps, but takes responsibility, nonetheless. If this Arthur sees fit to spend his subjects’ lives so poorly, then somebody has to step up and protect the kingdom, if need be. “Ten,” he murmurs back.

Arthur smiles, mocking. He lifts a hand and runs a finger down Merlin’s cheek. “Hmm…but I want to hear sixty lashes. Who will be taking the other thirty? You?”

In that moment, the warlock’s heart breaks. _His_ Arthur wouldn’t demand sixty lashes just because he wants to hear the crack of the whip. _His_ Arthur wouldn’t even consider flogging these men for their mistakes. This Arthur is a monster. As a traitorous tear escape down his cheek, he whispers, “Yes.”

The King’s laugh starts out soft, but gains volume as he turns back to the rest of the court. “Well, well, what a fine development this is. My consort has convinced me that thirty lashes may be a bit too much, so I’m reducing the sentence to ten lashes each.” His laughter subsides, but he still looks amused. “Atherol, I want you to oversee the flogging personally.” The new knight nods. As soon as Arthur turns away, Sir Atherol leers at Merlin, making his blood run cold. Atherol is only one of the few who Arthur has recently knighted to replace the ones they lost, but Merlin can’t feel comfortable around them. Because when his old Arthur would have chosen his knights based on their skills, kindness, and honor, this Arthur selected based on skills and ruthlessness. This makes Merlin uncomfortable around them, and, he knows, so do the old knights. “Well?” the King demands, “off you go! Council is dismissed!”

 

\----------===========----------

 

Merlin is sitting at the desk, pretending to read, when Arthur enters the chambers. Gaius, through his apprentice Ezra, informs him that the King has learned about Emrys and just how valuable he is.

(He burns the note immediately after reading it.)

For Merlin, that only means that Arthur won't kill him. Merlin is hoping that the next time Arthur holds a knife to his throat, the King's hand slips and cuts off Merlin's miserable existence.

But the universe is not so kind.

"Leave us," Arthur commands Odi, who looks at Merlin before leaving the room.

The King is taking off his gloves as he walks towards the warlock. Merlin finds it curious that Arthur insists on Merlin having a manservant while he refuses one. Well, he insists that only Merlin will dress and undress him, at least.

Arthur's fingers play on his neck; Merlin just sits still. This goes on for a while, neither saying a word, but Arthur grows tired soon enough. He pulls Merlin up from his seat and start undressing him himself.

Is this how things will be for the rest of his life? Secret messages from allies and friends, terrified citizens, and a distrustful court? This isn’t what he envisioned when Kilgarrah told him about their shared destiny.

“You’re too soft on the people,” Arthur speaks softly against his ear. Merlin shivers, not from arousal but from apprehension, but Arthur smiles nonetheless against his earlobe. “The people need a strong hand to guide them. If we are lenient, there will be disorder.”

Arthur runs a hand down Merlin’s chest; slowly, intimately, raking his short nails against Merlin’s nipples, digging his fingers into Merlin’s sides. The warlock gasps from the stinging sensation Arthur’s hands elicit, his own hands grasp the King’s shoulders without meaning to.

“I think,” Arthur whispers against his lips, “that, like you, I have been lenient, too. Perhaps it’s time to teach you how to be a better ruler. Turn around and bend over.”

There used to be a time when fear had no place in Merlin’s heart as long as Arthur was with him. He could face maleficent sorcerers, powerful beasts, and magical faeries, if it means saving his and Arthur’s destiny. Now, however…now, as he looks into Arthur’s eyes, he sees no trace of kindness left, and he is terrified. “What—? Arthur, what—what are you planning to do?”

“I said, bend over the desk, Merlin.”

“But—but, Arthur, please, what are you going to do? I don’t understand.”

Arthur smirks at that, and it fills Merlin’s heart with dread for whatever the King has in store for him. “You don’t need to understand, Merlin. You need to _learn_.”

Without further warning, Arthur physically turns him and bends him over the desk with a hand on his neck. Merlin feels the King cover his body with his own, the grip on his neck getting tighter, warm lips peppering kisses on his neck, cheeks, and hair. Abruptly, the King leaves him in that position, but Merlin dares not to move. He thinks of running, but knows he won’t get far—there are knights outside the chamber doors, instructed to keep him in their line of sight at all times, except for when Arthur is present himself. Below the windows are more guards, and even Gaius has his own set of guards to prevent him from talking to Merlin. Yes, running would be an exercise in futility.

Arthur comes back after a few moments, running a hand down Merlin’s bare and chilled back. The warlock flinches at the initial contact, which makes the King knead harder, rougher. Arthur leans in close again to press his mouth against Merlin’s shoulder blade. “I forgave your friends’ sins because you promised to do anything for me, Merlin. And all I asked in return was that you do everything I say and for you to stay with me always. Always, Merlin. Have I not been a good King?”

Before Merlin can answer, he hears a sharp _thwack_ , and feels a piercing pain on the upper part of his thigh. So surprised, he yelps and instinctively moves his body further up the desk to keep away from the source of his pain. Fingers grip his hair, forcibly lifting his head from the cool surface underneath him. “Well?” Arthur’s voice is as cold as the hand rubbing Merlin’s stinging flesh.

“You’re a good King!” Merlin gasps out, hands gripping the edge of the desk to keep himself still, for Arthur means for this night to hurt. “A good King! Please, please!”

Satisfied with his answer, Arthur lets his hair go, causing Merlin’s forehead to fall down on the desk with a hard thunk. Merlin is breathing hard, nerves overstimulated. He turns his head to the side and sees Arthur keeping a firm hand on the small of his back, while the other holds his riding crop.

“Eyes down, Merlin.”

He does as he’s told, tears stinging his gritty eyes. Arthur has not hurt him like this since Merlin’s promise to comply with his every demand, and even then, the King only ever used his hand and fists. Merlin holds back a sob in the realization that Arthur wants tonight to be more painful than anything else he’s ever experienced.

“You claim that I am a good King, and yet you dispute my decisions in front of the entire court.”

“I’m sorry, Sire, please!” Merlin whispers fervently. He wants it to end. They have only started, but Merlin knows he won’t make it to the morning. Not like this. “I won’t do it again.”

“Of course, you won’t, Merlin, because you’ll learn, won’t you? I’ll have to teach you what a proper Consort does, won’t I? So that you’ll not make the same mistakes. So that you know that you defer only to me.”

Merlin nods.

“Good. Now, since you promised to take those men’s punishment for your own, we’ll have to do it tonight, won’t we? A leader is only as good as his word, after all. You’ll get thirty, and I want you to count them all. Falter, and we’ll start again. Forget, we’ll start again. Do I make myself clear?”

“Sire,” Merlin murmurs, dragging the word out for his breath is restricted by his sobs, “please, please, I’m sorry. Please, no. Please…”

“Do I make myself clear?”

He tries to call to his magic, but it’s not listening to him. He tries again, searching for it deep within just as Gaius taught him all those years ago, but still nothing—even his magic has failed him.

A strong hand clutch at his neck to lift his head up again. “ _Do I make myself clear?_ ”

“Yes! Yes, Sire,” he wheezes.

“Good. Now, stay still.”

Merlin closes his eyes as the next smack hits. The pain shoots to his nerve endings, makes him clutch the table’s edge harder. “One,” he breaths out.

Another smack. “Two.”

On and on it goes, Merlin counting out, not caring that he’s weeping and staining the desk with his tears. Each time, his body arches, his head is thrown back, his knuckles turning white. He grits his teeth, his muscles bunching from the agony that Arthur inflicts on his body, and still Arthur does not let off, keeping the speed and intensity of each blow consistent.

“Thirty!” Merlin yells at the top of his lungs, uncaring if the knights outside hears everything.

To say that his thighs are sore is an understatement; it feels as if his entire body is on fire, as if the skin has peeled off. He’s on his toes, the desk underneath him the only thing keeping him afloat. His lungs is burning from lack of air, and his knuckles prickling.

“Shh…there you go. You’re done,” he hears Arthur whisper from somewhere behind him.

He thinks the torment is over, but then he feels a cool hand on his sweltering flesh. Pain flashes through him, making him see sparks. He lashes out; every thought leaving him, his magic reacting to the pain and discomfort. He turns and pushes Arthur away with what little magic he has. The King slams against the wall, an invisible force keeping him there, far from Merlin. However, intense pain and exhaustion catches up to him, making his magic fade away abruptly.

He watches in horror as Arthur walks slowly to him, beautiful face morphed into a despicable snarl. The King grabs him by the throat, and drags him towards the bed, forcing him face down on the soft mattress.

“How dare you use your magic on me!” Arthur mounts him, not caring whether he’s hurting Merlin or not. He feels Arthur lean closer, and hears the clanging of the chains attached to the bed post.

“No, no, please, Arthur, I’m sorry, please! I didn’t mean to, please!” He’s writhing on the bed, trying to turn and face Arthur, but the King is stronger.

“When are you going to learn? Your magic is no longer yours alone! We are bound, in every way possible. Your magic is bound to me!” Arthur sneers, attaching Merlin’s bracelet to the chains; first one, then the other.

“Accident…please, it was an accident!” he cries against the pillow.

“Enough!” Arthur roars, landing another slap against Merlin’s burning thighs with the flat of his hand. “You will learn, Merlin.”

Arthur spits on the crack of his arse before roughly pushing his thumb in. Merlin cries out; the sudden intrusion burns, his rim catching on to the knuckle. The King does it again, this time using two fingers. Tears fall freely as Merlin lies there, body being used and abused, being opened against his will.

Arthur’s hand leaves his body, but Merlin doesn’t get relief as Arthur’s cock spears him instead. Merlin screams, eyes shut tight as he feels Arthur splitting him open, cock pushing in deeper and deeper. He screams with every thrust, with every plunge, fingers clutching his chains for support. With a final cry, Merlin’s world turns black.

 

\----------==========----------

 

Merlin hears shuffling behind him. He opens his eyes and lifts his head to see what’s going on. And then he remembers everything—the riding crop, the whipping he received, the magic, and Arthur…

His wrists are no longer chained, but are red and chafed.

“Sire?” he hears a whisper from behind him. He turns and sees Ezra and Odi hovering nearby, Ezra holding a jar of what smells like salve in his hand. The physician’s apprentice sees where he’s looking and lifts the jar closer to his nose. “It is Echinacea root and comfrey leaves, Sire. For your cuts.” Ezra glances at his thighs.

He’s still very naked and very sore, but he’s long past caring. All the servants inside the castle know how the King mistreats his Consort, but no one dares say anything against their ruler. If King Arthur can give a beating to the one person he professes to love in the world, then Heaven help whoever the King despises.

Merlin looks around the chambers, looking for the King, but it appears that his manservant knows what he’s doing. “He’s gone, Highness. He…” Odi stops and gives Ezra a meaningful look.

The physician’s apprentice looks mournfully at Merlin. “What? What’s happened?” he rasps, his voice gravelly after the nights torture.

The two share a loaded glance, before turning back to Merlin. “He’s taken Gaius, Sire,” whispers Ezra.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't like hurting people, and I can't even imagine what a spanking feels like. Again, this is unbetaed work. Also, the comments are appreciated!


End file.
